


Raison d'être

by karuvapatta



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: F/M, Flashbacks, I just want Adrien and Nathalie to bond a little, Season 2 finale broke me, Spoilers, Unrequited Love, post-Mayura
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-04
Updated: 2018-11-22
Packaged: 2019-08-18 19:36:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16523336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/karuvapatta/pseuds/karuvapatta
Summary: Nathalie's trying to do her job, but struggles to remember what it actuallywasbefore the Agreste family rewrote her priorities.





	1. Adrien & Nathalie

**Author's Note:**

> I've only seen a couple of episodes of this show, so this may not be 100% accurate, but I loved the ending of season 2. Need more wonderfully dysfunctional GabeNath in my life.
> 
> (And yes, I know the title is terribly unoriginal).

She walked a little unsteadily, spots swimming across her vision with every rapid movement, limbs sluggish to obey commands. But Nathalie wouldn’t let a minor inconvenience keep her from doing her job.

Adrien arrived on time and with a bemused half-smile, nodding at her in greeting. His suit had been laid out already, and Nathalie made sure to review the most important points of the event before locking her laptop and giving the boy a more thorough once-over.

“I’m sorry the picnic was cut short,” she said.

“It doesn’t matter,” Adrien said. Automatically, politely.

“Did you have a good time?”

She knew the ins and outs of his schedule, but he was still a bit of a mystery to her. Children often were. Yet it was impossible to miss his soft smile and the faint blush covering his cheek.

“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah. The day itself was—well, I’m sure you have seen the news.”

“Of course,” Nathalie replied, careful.

“But after that—” his hand went up to his cheek, a faraway gaze in his eyes. He didn’t say anything, but Nathalie had her suspicions.

His attention snapped back to her when she coughed. Nathalie swiped a thumb across her tablet and scrolled through the latest updates.

“We are on tight schedule,” she said. “But you will have a day off tomorrow. I hope that’s alright.”

“It is,” Adrien nodded. Then he hesitated. “Is father here?”

“No,” Nathalie said. “Mr Agreste was regretfully unable to make an appearance.”

The sentence rolled off her tongue, well-practiced and often repeated. Adrien barely acknowledged her words, as used to hearing them as Nathalie was to saying them.

This was going to change, Nathalie thought. Today was a disaster on every level – a long awaited triumph turned sour. Mr Agreste was bound to have locked himself away in the vault, alone with his guilt and his longing; and she, Nathalie, who prided herself on finding impossible solutions, had no idea how to help him through it.

No; she did. She _would_.

“I’ll leave you to get prepared,” she told Adrien. Just like his father, the boy bottled up his emotions. Unlike the man, however, he was learning to open up a little, his circle of friends offering him the support that Mr Agreste was unable to provide.

She wished she could reassure him. She wished she knew how. Emotions, however, weren’t Nathalie’s forte, so she kept her silence, and a wordless promise that everything would end up well. For Adrien, and for Mr Agreste.

When she stood up – she had to sit down, she had sat down as soon as she entered the room, standing up was simply too much effort – she found herself light-headed again, the world spinning dangerously around her. The wooden doorframe offered some support, and she clung to her tablet like a lifeline while her body adjusted—

“Are you okay?” Adrien asked, his voice muffled through Nathalie’s cotton-stuffed ears. Concern was plain in his face and his movements, and she blinked several times until her vision stopped swimming.

“Yes,” she said, uncertainly; stupid. Stupid. She had never been more certain in her life—

“Should I call someone?” Adrien asked. “I think you need rest—”

“No,” Nathalie said. “Thank you. But no. I’m fine. A bit tired, that’s all.”

She tried to smile. Adrien wasn’t convinced, so she swiped through her tablet again, and jabbed her finger at the shrinking time slot allocated to his preparations.

“You need to hurry,” she said.

Only after he shut the door Nathalie breathed a little deeper. Mr Agreste had warned her something like this might happen, and had demanded the Miraculous back as soon as he was satisfied she wasn’t in immediate danger. He had probably hidden it somewhere he thought she wouldn’t find it.

There was no such place. Nathalie would fix things. Nathalie would do anything for him to be whole again.


	2. The Flashback Episode

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the death of Emilie Agreste, there's only one person who can attempt to keep things going. Nathalie just wishes it wasn't her.

Nathalie tried not to flinch under the unblinking red light of the security camera.

“Good morning, Mr Agreste,” she said. “I would like a few words, if you can spare the time.”

_I wouldn’t show up at your doorstep, sir, if you’d only pick up my calls or respond to my emails,_ she did not say. Then she didn’t add: _I am very sorry for your loss, but it’s been weeks, and a lot of people’s livelihoods depend on you. Mine included._

She heard no response. Maybe it was heartless of her to have come here – the man clearly wanted his privacy – but the metaphorical pile of matters that required his personal attention has reached the ceiling and was now wobbling precariously on Nathalie’s desk.

The wall panel shot up, covering the camera. Gate remained closed.

Five minutes. She could wait five minutes, and then she would hire a cab, go home, and start updating her CV.

Before she could move, however, the wrought iron gate inched apart, letting her inside. The Agreste mansion loomed above her, uninviting. Its outward appearance hadn’t changed, but the atmosphere was so thick and unpleasant that it felt like drudging through mud.

Mr Agreste was waiting for her at the top of the staircase. His dissatisfied frown wasn’t new, but everything Nathalie had meant to say to him – expression of condolences, long overdue – froze in her throat.

“What is it, Nathalie?” he asked once it became clear Nathalie wasn’t going to speak first.

“It’s—it’s work, sir,” she said, words rushing out. “I tried contacting you, sir, but you weren’t answering, and this really cannot wait—the meetings next month, our quarterly budget needs your approval, and the board wants your opinion on—”

She trailed off. Now that she saw him, saw the layer of dust on the furniture, heard the silence, saw the clothes hang off his back as if he had dropped weight; against all this, everything she thought important suddenly stopped seeming that way. What were a couple of stupid meetings compared to the magnitude of his loss?

But the world did not stop turning, not even for Mr Agreste. Nathalie was paid to be efficient, not thoughtful, and so she squared her shoulders and finished talking.

“I understand if you don’t want to be bothered, sir, but it’d mean a lot if you could appoint an acting executive in your absence.”

Mr Agreste’s eyes narrowed.

“No,” he said flatly. “Leave the documents, Nathalie. I will review them myself.”

Climbing that imposing staircase under his empty gaze was an impossible feat, so she set down a tablet and a number of thick folders on a marble side table. She made sure they were neatly arranged before stepping aside.

They weren’t alone. She heard a rustle of fabric and a few uncertain steps, and looked up to see Adrien Agreste.

Unlike his father, the boy wore his grief on his face. And he was a terrible sight, small and pale, wide green eyes swinging from her to his father’s back. Mr Agreste didn’t even look at him.

It was too much. She didn’t want to spend a second longer in this house.

Outside, in the bright morning sun, Nathalie felt like she could breathe again. It didn’t make her feel any less like a coward.

***

To her surprise, Mr Agreste did contact her the very next day. Or rather, he summoned her to his mansion.

This time he led her straight to his office. There was some semblance of normalcy to the situation; Nathalie filled him in on everything that had happened in his absence, answered questions, updated schedules and documents. It was no different to how she had spent most mornings over the past several years.

Almost. The silence of the house was unsettling. Nathalie liked how busy the office was; she liked chatting with co-workers over the coffee maker. She still went and made coffee, as usual, and was struck with another uncomfortable thought.

“Sir,” she said, trying to be delicate and failing. “Your housekeeper—”

“I fired her,” Mr Agreste said.

“Ah,” Nathalie nodded. This really wasn’t any of her business, but—“Would like me to find you another one?”

Mr Agreste gave her a long look. Then he examined his surroundings, frowning, as if he had only just noticed the mess around them. “You should,” he said. “I don’t want the staff running around the house unsupervised. Keep an eye of them as they work, Nathalie.”

_It’s not my job_ , Nathalie almost said. It came out as a meek: “Yes, sir.”

***

Technically, Mr Agreste didn’t tell her to show up every morning. She did so anyway, as she suspected that was what he wanted. She would spend a riveting several hours watching the staff clean up and cook meal for two (which Adrien ate in the empty dining room and Mr Agreste took to his office, if he bothered eating at all) before sending them away for the day. Then there were her regular duties: schedules, meetings, emails, reports. Everything meant for Mr Agreste’s ears had to go through her first, and these days Nathalie was very selective about what she let through. She felt heartless enough forcing him to work at all.

Or maybe this was what he needed. He already spent too much time in front of the giant portrait of Emilie Agreste, his eyes trained on her face and his heart lost to the world. Odd, that, since Nathalie knew first-hand that he rarely left work when she was alive—

Nathalie paused, filled with an overwhelming need to bang her head against the desk. It was an ugly, treacherous thought. She shouldn’t be thinking it at all.

Either way. Once Mr Agreste worked through his grief, he’d be grateful to find his company still running. Nathalie would just have to make sure it actually would be.

Unfortunately, that left her where she was right now: in the middle of the night, at her boss’s desolate mansion, catching up on paperwork.

Nathalie thought wistfully of her own apartment across town, with her own bed and her own shower in it. Her vision was going blurry so she took a step back from the shiny screen and stretched. Coffee. Coffee would see her through this night. Coffee would see her through however many nights would follow.

She made her careful way through all the empty spaces. Kitchen was massive, done in black and white like the rest of the rooms. But it had her favourite thing in the world, that is to say the state-of-the-art coffee maker.

About ten minutes later, after breathing in the wonderful aroma of freshly ground beans, she heard tentative footsteps behind her. Nathalie turned, carefully, and found Adrien by the door, staring at her with those big sunny green eyes that were one hundred per cent Emilie.

The boy was alone with his grief. It was obvious Mr Agreste was barely holding on and incapable of being an attentive parent; it was obvious that all the extracurricular activities he had schedules for Adrien were meant to keep Adrien occupied; that he had asked Nathalie to tutor him, never mind that _she wasn’t a tutor, sir, or a teacher, this really isn’t in my contract or anywhere near my area of expertise,_ that she never found the strength to object, coming up with another feeble _Yes, sir;_ that Adrien needed an adult, and that wasn’t Mr Agreste, and sure as hell wasn’t going to be Nathalie—

“Adrien,” she said. Too many thoughts were running through her head, so she forced them down. “You should sleep. Your Chinese lesson starts at—”

“Eight, I know,” he replied.

This wasn’t what he wanted to hear. Something in Nathalie’s brain was wired to anticipate what others needed, and now she was uncomfortably aware that she was unable to provide it. But she wasn’t good with kids; she never had been. It wasn’t—it wasn’t fair that she was put in a situation when she had no idea what to do or say.

Adrien dropped his gaze.

“I, uh,” he said. “I couldn’t sleep. Why are you still here?”

“I’m reviewing financial reports for our quarterly meeting,” she replied.

“That doesn’t sound very interesting,” Adrien said, doubtful.

“It’s not my favourite thing but it needs to be done,” Nathalie said. “Would you like some tea?”

Adrien perked up at that, a soft smile lighting up his face. “Yes, please!”

Tea was easy. It was something she could do for the boy, even if that something was woefully inadequate. But Adrien seemed pleased with the steaming hot drink she offered him, and she couldn’t help a tired smile.

Then she forced that down, too.

“If you have trouble sleeping, or perhaps if you need to talk to someone,” Nathalie said, “I could schedule an appointment with a therapist.”

Her voice sounded cold, emotionless, robotic; Adrien’s expression clouded.

“I’m fine,” he lied. “Thank you.”

He took his tea and left the kitchen, with a curt “Good night, Nathalie.”

“Good night, Adrien,” she called after him, unsure if he was able to hear her.

***

Tutoring wasn’t her calling, but she found herself enjoying it nonetheless. Adrien was a quiet, studious, obedient child, and Nathalie had always enjoyed learning. A part of her was almost excited to go through all the subjects again; something she would never admit out loud.

But Adrien didn’t want to be here. He had breeched the subject of school a couple of times, and Nathalie took it up with Mr Agreste about a month before the schoolyear began.

“Absolutely not,” was the man’s answer. “Adrien needs to stay here, where it’s safe.”

And that was that.

She didn’t have the time to worry about disappointing Adrien, though. There was something new and odd about Mr Agreste – for the first time in weeks, she felt like she had his complete undivided attention. There was an unhealthy glint in his eyes and a brisk energy in his movements. Everything he did became more purposeful. It was almost, _almost_ like the old Mr Agreste, except Nathalie couldn’t work out what caused this change. Not the new collection, now any upcoming shows – his interest in those had been perfunctory at best. He would spend just much time as ever in front of Emilie’s portrait, but _something_ had changed. And Nathalie didn’t know what it was.

She didn’t like it. Then again, it wasn’t her place to wonder.

Unfortunately, while focusing on the elusive Mr Agreste she managed to misjudge his son. Adrien cared about the school way more than she anticipated, given that he was willing to sneak out of the house to attend it, forcing a very frantic Nathalie to chase him down the city.

Mr Agreste chose the middle of their history class to express his displeasure. It meant that Nathalie was there to see Adrien’s dreams crushed. She was also there to shoulder the blame. And it wasn’t fair really, losing Adrien’s trust like this, as she didn’t even know she had it to begin with.

_It’s none of your business,_ Nathalie said to herself, and tried not to wince at Adrien’s crestfallen expression. _This isn’t your child._

_If you don’t speak up for him, nobody will_ , said another voice. She might have called it her conscience, but Nathalie famously possessed nothing of the sort.

***

The very first Akuma attack took Paris by surprise shortly thereafter. Nathalie dismissed it quickly as a practical joke – kids with youtube accounts did the weirdest things to get likes or shares or whatever. Especially once Ladybug’s “magic” conveniently wiped all traces of the event.

Nathalie had more important things on her mind as she fetched Mr Agreste’s schedule and coffee. His office was empty – that was unusual, she was sure he had gone inside to work. There was nobody there but the huge, golden picture of Emilie Agreste, staring at her with Adrien’s kind eyes. That was, apparently, all Nathalie needed to strengthen her resolve.

Mr Agreste appeared eventually, agitated, energetic; depressed, still, but more active. It worried her more than she dared to admit. He was in the mood to do something reckless and foolish, and seemed to have enough strength to actually go through with it.

She squared her shoulders. First things first.

“Sir,” she said.

“Yes?” he asked, absent-minded, his back turned to her, his eyes on Emilie; always on Emilie.

“You should let Adrien go to school. Sir.”

He hadn’t moved but she saw the tension in his back, the way his jaw muscles worked when he gritted his teeth together.

“Adrien is safer here,” he said coldly. “I’m doing what’s best for my son.”

“Sir,” she took a deep breath. “I don’t pretend to know what is or isn’t best, but it seems really important to him—”

“When I want your opinion on the matter, Miss Sancoeur, I will ask for it.”

His voice, whip-sharp and unpleasant, made her take a step back. He never took that tone with her; she never questioned him on such personal issues. There was a line here, and Nathalie had crossed it.

“My apologies, sir,” she said.

“I made my decision, Nathalie,” Mr Agreste said. “This is not up for discussion.”

“Of course,” Nathalie paused. She watched him relax, secure in the knowledge that the matter had been put to rest. And then, trying not to think of how close she was to losing her job, Nathalie continued: “If you were to reconsider, however, I would like to suggest that Adrien’s bodyguard will drive him, and that all his other activities can be scheduled so that they won’t conflict with his time at school. I would see to it. If you were to reconsider. Sir.”

Without waiting for his response, lest it be something she didn’t want to hear, Nathalie left the office.

***

In a way, Adrien’s gratitude was even harder to bear than the earlier betrayal. The boy could light up a room with a smile, much like his mother had once; and Nathalie couldn’t stand it. She didn’t want to have to worry about him. She didn’t want to try and coax Mr Agreste into sharing a meal with him, only to fail every time. She didn’t want Adrien to rely on her for – emotional support or anything of the sort, anything other than what she was actually good at. She didn’t think she could disappoint him again.

***

Whatever Mr Agreste did during his regular absences, it was none of her business. She was quite adamant about that. He trusted her; he trusted her with his company and with his own son. The least she could do was respect his privacy.

And yet.

He disappeared at odd intervals during the day, showing complete disregard for his schedule. As was his right. Because he was her boss. And this was his house.

And _yet_.

Curiosity brought her to the portrait. She rather liked Gustav Klimt and the excess of gold; moreover, it almost did justice to Emilie’s beauty.

Nathalie’s fingers danced over the canvas, feeling for a difference in texture. Something, anything. And it was there – a smoother triangle, blending seamlessly with the rest of the work.

Her hands trembled; her throat was dry. She had caught Mr Agreste out of the corner of her eye, touching the portrait just as she was now. It wasn’t the usual wistfulness, but something a lot more purposeful. Yet again she reminded herself firmly that it was none of her business: but she had to know. If Mr Agreste caught himself in something illegal or dangerous, there was no one else left to stop him; no one left to care for Adrien in his absence. She’d rather get fired than let either of them come to harm.

She pressed the buttons. Immediately after, the floor beneath her feet _moved_ , nearly jolting her off her feet. She held steady as a platform lowered her down, through a narrow tunnel and into complete darkness.

Whatever she expected, it wasn’t this.

The hidden room was flooded with eerie blue light, the patterned windows casting looping shadows on the floor. Heart in her throat, Nathalie took several steps forward. Her movements disturbed a cloud of butterflies – dozens of them, maybe hundreds, flapping their pale iridescent wings. They flocked and danced, little specks of light in the stillness of the empty room.

In a way, it was quite beautiful.

Nathalie turned around and fled.

***

YouTube was chockfull of videos detailing the so-called “heroes vs villains” battles that had been plaguing Paris lately. She found one easily, saw the Ladybug girl catch an Akuma into her magic yo-yo; Nathalie hit the space bar and then zoomed in, watching the blurry little butterfly take flight.

She shut her laptop.

There was a possibility that the matters were completely unrelated. She entertained the thought while pouring herself a glass of red wine, her hands trembling. Perhaps Mr Agreste kept the butterflies as an inspiration for a new collection. Perhaps there was some other, perfectly innocent explanation.

Nathalie turned off her lights and went to stand by the open window. Her apartment was quite high up, offering her a nice view of the city with its millions of glittering lights, busy streets, crowds. Nothing had changed; not the view, not her apartment, not the taste of her favourite wine. And yet there was a shift on some fundamental level, regarding how she saw Mr Agreste. A few months ago, she’d never even entertain the idea that he could be using magic to terrorize Paris. But so much had changed, and Nathalie wasn’t sure of anything anymore.

***

In the morning, she woke up at the usual hour, dressed in her usual outfit, fit her hair into a bun, applied light make-up. She sipped coffee while listening to the news; she left the house at the same time as on any other day.

And she worked. She arranged schedules, reviewed emails, contracts, Adrien’s grades, the financial reports. Mr Agreste had locked himself in his office, so even if she wanted to avoid him, she had no opportunity to.

In the afternoon, there was another akuma attack.

Nathalie sat frozen behind her desk, gripping its edge so hard her knuckles turned white. Adrien was safe in his room; Mr Agreste was in his office. She should—

She couldn’t move. What if she _was_ right? What if Mr Agreste wasn’t in his office but in that room, doing who knows what, causing chaos in the city—

The news was being broadcast on her computer screen. She turned them off with a shaking hand and tried to breathe evenly, her eyes fixated on the columns of numbers. Normal things, everyday things; things Nathalie knew how to deal with.

She snapped out of her reverie and resumed working.

***

If Mr Agreste noticed the change in her, he did not comment on it. Not even when Nathalie almost jumped at the sound of his voice, and froze when he walked past her desk to get to his office, her breath caught in her throat.

“Nathalie.”

She forced herself to meet his gaze, the usual _Yes, sir?_ barely managing to cross her dry lips.

“Come with me, please.”

It had been three days. She could almost convince herself that he didn’t notice. She was wrong.

Nathalie stood up and followed Mr Agreste, just as she did every other day of her life. No, she did not call the police; she did not quit her job. Over a decade that she had spent at this man’s side compelled her to _move_ , even as he brought them to what was clearly his evil lair with the soft flutter of butterfly wings; and then, further than that.

She did not know what she was expecting. Even so, after everything – this was too much.

It was a different room, darker, an explosion of vivid colour after the cold blue of the previous one. And there, in the warm yellow light, in some kind of a glass cylinder, seemingly in deep and peaceful sleep – there was Emilie Agreste.

Her head spun. Nathalie took a step back, then another. Mr Agreste didn’t notice – he had pressed his palm flat to the glass pane, pained, wistful expression on his face. He had never been open with his emotions, and Nathalie felt like she was intruding on something private, never mind that he had brought her here himself.

Oh heavens— _he brought her here_. Every instinct screamed at her to run, far away from this place and this man, but her legs were frozen in place.

“I’m sure you watched the videos,” Mr Agreste said, his voice softer than she had ever heard it. “What I do is necessary to draw out Ladybug and Chat Noir. Once I obtain their Miraculous, my wish will come true…”

“Sir,” Nathalie said, level, reasonable, because _something_ had to be in this bizarre new world they had found themselves in, “Is she dead?”

“She’s alive,” Mr Agreste said with absolute conviction, although it was anyone’s guess if that statement was based on a fact or simply the delusions of a desperate man. “Barely, but she is. There is no other way to bring her back.”

That sick, feverish hope threatened to consume him. And yet Nathalie herself could see what the Ladybug magic could do, the healing wave that washed over Paris; it was easy to believe that it could the same to Emilie Agreste, who lay there in enchanted sleep.

“Why did you bring me here?” Nathalie asked.

Mr Agreste half-turned to look at her. Never in those ten years had she seen him quite like this: vulnerable, grief-stricken, lost, apologetic. Nathalie could feel her heart hammer against her chest, and had an odd little thought that it was rare she even remembered she had one.

“I need you to understand why I’m doing this,” Mr Agreste told her. “I—I need you on my side, Nathalie.”

Damn him. Nathalie Sancoeur was a P.A., not a henchwoman. After everything she had done for the man, after she went above and beyond her duties, asking for nothing in return, he had the audacity to saddle her with this knowledge. Even if she disapproved of his actions, and she most certainly did, calling the police wasn’t an option. It would destroy him, Emilie’s memory, Adrien, the company, Nathalie’s career – it would destroy everything that had ever mattered to her. And he _dared_ to put her through all this?

_I need you_ , Mr Agreste had said. The soft admission bypassed anger and frustration, and all rational thought.

He didn’t need her; he didn’t need any of this. He needed therapy, and then he needed to move on, and be a proper father to his son. But as long as there was a glimmer of hope that Emilie could come back, he would never do any of these things.

“Sir,” Nathalie said stiffly. “I—”

_I don’t want any part in this. I will do anything for you._

“I will think about this.”

She already knew what her answer was going to be. In many ways, Nathalie was just as hopeless as Gabriel Agreste.


	3. Adrien & Nathalie, part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Continued from the first chapter.

It was a bit surreal to watch the charity ball devolve into a celebration of their failure, but there it was: a huge screen giving a rundown of today’s events. Nathalie watched, with sinking heart, how Mr Agreste’s careful plans turned to dust, only her last-minute effort allowing him to escape.

She watched him crumple to the floor at her prompting, giving in to the despair he had been trying so hard to fight. It was necessary; much like the Butterfly, the Peacock responded to strong emotion. That didn’t mean she didn’t hate herself for this.

The clip ended and the room exploded in cheers and applause as Paris lauded its mysterious heroes. Nathalie didn’t join the celebration, but thanks to her reputation nobody expected her to. Adrien was the only one who sought her out, eyes shining with admiration, and she returned his smile.

“You’re still a little pale,” he told her later.

She said nothing. The bright lights and the noise wore her down, it was true. Willpower alone kept her upright.

Both of them climbed into the limo with a relieved sigh, Adrien looking just as exhausted as she felt. Oddly, there was still this nervous energy about him, a barely concealed excitement that gradually turned into anxiety as they drove home. He bit his lip and bounced his foot, fingers rubbing his cheek.

“Is something the matter?” Nathalie asked.

Adrien shook his head, and then gave a startled little laugh. “I don’t know. There’s this girl—”

“Ladybug?”

“No—I mean. Yes. She’s amazing, isn’t she?” his eyes glazed over with admiration. “She’s brave and good—everything I,” a blushed covered his cheeks and he cleared his throat. “Never mind. The thing is, I don’t really _know_ her, do I? I think I do, but I have no idea who she is when she’s not wearing her mask. She could be someone else entirely. And there’s this—this other girl.”

“Who you do know,” Nathalie guessed.

“Yes,” Adrien said, voice softening. “I do.”

Nathalie shrugged.

“Your father thinks very highly of Miss Dupain-Cheng,” she said.

“What!” Adrien jumped in his seat. “Who said anything about Marinette! Ahahaha. Ha. This isn’t about her at all.”

“Of course,” Nathalie said agreeably.

They sat in silence for several blocks. Nathalie scrolled through her tablet and made adjustments to tomorrow’s schedule.

“Father likes her?” Adrien mumbled.

“I believe so,” Nathalie said.

“Oh.” He was silent for a long moment. “Do you?”

Nathalie looked up. Her opinion on the matter wasn’t really relevant, was it? But then she remembered the blue scarf Adrien favoured, and the crumpled little note she had ripped from it.

“She is very talented and has a good heart,” she said eventually. “Although she could stand to be a little more punctual.”

Adrien sniggered. “That’d be a deal breaker for you, right?”

“It did affect a number of my past relationships,” Nathalie said. “And it’s important to me. It doesn’t have to be that important to you, though.”

“Yeah, I could use a little less scheduling,” Adrien said. Then he realized what he had said. He looked at Nathalie with wide eyes and a guilty expression, a faint blush colouring his skin. “I didn’t mean…”

“It’s fine, Adrien,” Nathalie said.

“No, really,” the boy said earnestly. “I—I know how much you do for me and Father. And I appreciate it, I really do. It’s just—”

“You are a child and you need freedom,” Nathalie said, blinking several times. Her vision went blurry for some reason. Maybe it was the fatigue.

“I am not a child!” Adrien protested.

“Right. Of course.”

Although offended by her comment, Adrien was still smiling at her when they said their farewells. He really was too kind for his own good – if he only knew about everything that went on underneath this roof—if he knew that Mr Agreste and Nathalie failed to save his mother; if he knew about everything they did to achieve this goal; everything they were still planning to do—

He wouldn’t find out. He _couldn’t_. This would break his heart, she was sure of it.

“Do you need a ride?” André asked her, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. It was late and he, too, was anxious to get home.

Nathalie shook her head.

“I should check up on Mr Agreste,” she said. “It’s been a long day.”

She thought she saw his silhouette in the upper floor window once she exited the car. Her suspicion was confirmed with an arrival of a short message.

_Rest, Nathalie._

Yes. Rest. Above everything else, she needed a solid several hours of sleep. Tomorrow – tomorrow they would decide what to do.


End file.
